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02 March 2009

i hate audrey hepburn. because audrey hepburn always looked like audrey hepburn. even in her passport photograph.

i do not look like audrey hepburn in my passport photograph.

and yes, the bulk of the reason behind this (ignoring the fact that the swiss seem to allow one to look moodily away into the far-off distance and i would look better if they let me look moodily away) may be that i am not, in fact, audrey hepburn (which is probably for the best because that would make me a painfully thin, dead film star who had- most likely- made love to [the man who in my family lexicon is known as {and this just goes to show how i terrorized my parents with television biographies to such an extent that we have a family nickname for audrey hepburn's lover}] robbie wolders, lover of the stars).

it is my goal to never make love to robbie wolders, lover of the stars.

but i would like to have a good passport photograph. because you need a passport to go to places like paris and florence and dubrovnik and rome and when going to a glamorous place like paris or florence or dubrovnik or rome, what woman wants to whip out a passport that makes the aesthetic statement: i am sexually confused young man?

it isn't such a great demand. to want a photograph that captures the spirit of all the glamorous travel one will presumably be doing in the glamorous decade of passported persondom to come. a photograph where i do not look like a sexual predator or a pale, frightened red-haired boy.

as my passport came up for renewal this month, i thought this would be my chance. i don't know why i pinned all my hopes for a kick-ass photograph upon a lunch break spent beneath the harsh fluorescent glow (soft lighting, wherefore art thou?) of the walgreen's photo counter. stupid, really.

thus, the dream has been deferred.

but- to be ever positive- if i someday have need to pass as a shy russian lass forced into international travel on the way to inevitable poverty and a sex slave doom, i think we have just the shot.